


Gift Wrapping and Elves

by rlnerdgirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Derek working a charity gift wrapping, Fluff, M/M, Stiles is a mall elf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlnerdgirl/pseuds/rlnerdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek works the Hale sibling charity gift wrapping table at the mall. Stiles is one of Santa's elves. After two weeks of too many unpleasantly wrapped gifts leaving Derek's hands, his sisters have had enough. Talk to the elf, or else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift Wrapping and Elves

**Author's Note:**

> In response to [moonwasours](http://moonwasours.tumblr.com)' prompt:  
>  _how about Derek runs the charity gift wrap kiosk at the mall and Stiles works across the way at one of the shops._

“I hope you’re not planning on giving that back to anyone,” Cora mutters from his left.

Blinking, Derek looks down at the gift he’d been in the middle of wrapping—one end is wrapped perfectly, the other, he notices now, is clearly too short to cover even half of the space it’s supposed to. He sighs.

“Maybe if you spent less time watching that elf and a little more time _paying attention_ ,” Cora jabs, “I wouldn’t have to spend my entire day re-wrapping your shitty gifts.”

Derek glowers down at the pitiful gift in his hands. There’s no salvaging it. There’s also no good retort to throw back at Cora because, infuriatingly enough, she’s right. The worst part is that he’s failing in the name of charity, which is just, not a good feeling. Sure, it’s long hours with no pay, but the Hale siblings of Hale’s department store always do a charity gift wrapping kiosk during the holidays. In the past it was because they were so enraptured by the holiday spirit—and also because their parents made them. More recently, it’s a moderately good excuse to get out of the office for two weeks.

Also, Derek really does enjoy giving a little something back during the holidays.

Unfortunately _this_ holiday season all he’s been giving is a load of unusable paper to the recycle bin after failing every other gift he’s trying to wrap because of some tall, lanky elf that is unfairly distracting. The guy has a smile so bright and genuine no kid has had the guts not to smile back. Not just the kids either-

An elbow digs into his ribs. “You look weird when you smile that much. Simmer down,” Cora says, not bothering to keep her voice down. The woman in front of the table glances between the two of them, unsure. “Sorry ma’am,” Derek offers after clearing his throat. He really needs to get ahold of himself. “Which paper?”

“Toy trains, please.”

Derek nods before turning to pull off a slab of the requested paper. He’s particularly careful not to look up until he’s completely finished wrapping. Without the distraction of the Smiling Elf, the gift is finished in a little over three minutes and the picture of the perfect, pristine holiday wonderment. One that he nearly drops as he moves to hand it back and his eyes slide, of their own will, past the woman’s shoulder to see Smiling Elf pick up a little girl in a white dress, bordering four, from armpits and swings her up in the air. The girl squeals with laughter and Derek feels like he has _ovaries_ all of the sudden while his dick shows simultaneous interest at the way Smiling Elf’s svelte arms ripple with sleek muscle.

“Thank you,” the woman says, somewhat strained, which is odd, until Derek’s gaze slides back to her and she’s literally wrenching the gift out of his tense grip.

“Okay, that’s it.”

Derek turns toward his sister, eyebrow raised. “What’s it?”

“You’re talking to the elf.”

He snorts. “No.” No way.

“Yeah,” Cora says back.

It would be a hell of a lot easier to repeat himself if a hand didn’t land on his shoulder, followed by, “No. Yeah. What?” Laura. Perfect timing, as always.

“Nothing,” Derek says at the same time Cora looks up at their older sister and smirks around, “Derek talking to the elf.”

Laura laughs. “Oh yeah. Yeah. That’s a yeah,” she nods, raising her eyebrows as she turns her attention to Derek, daring him to disagree.

Thirty years of living with Laura and Derek is used to that look—enough to turn away and ignore her as he greets another waiting customer. “What paper?”

“Silver, please.”

“No,” he says as he turns around to grab the paper.

“Oh ho ho, yeah, no’s not going to work. You’re talking to the elf,” Laura chuckles as she settles into the seat on his right.

Derek hunches around the gift as he wraps, glaring at it fiercely as he double-presses creases and carefully folds corners. “No,” the growls into the Hale’s gift box under his hands.

“Pretty sure I said that’s not a viable option,” Laura chirps.

‘You’re not the boss of me,’ is on the tip of Derek’s tongue. The only reason it doesn’t take flight is that it’s horrifying immature, and there’s a forty-some year old woman in front of him waiting on her gift wrapping. Instead he says, “You can’t _force_ me to talk to someone.”

From his left, Cora clucks in warning as Laura sighs. “True, but I _can_ make the life of you and your designers really shitty.”

Stifling the curse biting at the back of his throat is a near thing. Laura _isn’t_ his boss, but unfortunately her marketing department does have a fair amount of pull on him and his design team. While it’s a two way street, Laura is far more vicious when it comes to applying her personal disputes to the work environment than Derek is. He knows this, Cora knows this, and, most of all, Laura knows this.

It’s not until he’s finishing off the bow and handing the gift back that he’s able to take a breath. “At the end of the day,” he agrees with much reservation.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when he finally allows his eyes to leave the table at the end of his gift wrapping shift to find Smiling Elf gone. Cora and Laura give him sideways glances the whole time they pack up until he finally has to stand up from where he’s compressing the recycle and glare. “What?”

“You totally knew,” Cora says, sounding disgusted.

“Definitely _not_ in the spirit,” Laura adds in.

Derek rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know his shift was going to end.” Not that it does much good. Both sisters continue to stare, disapprovingly. He throws his hands up and groans, “Fine. I’ll try tomorrow.”

Their smiles are enough to let him know he’s an idiot.

“Now it might be bad luck,” Cora says four hours into gift wrapping the next day.

Santa and his elves are up and running and Smiling Elf has yet to be seen. It’s a bit of a surprise—more than that, really. Smiling Elf has been working every day for the past two weeks. Derek knows. He’s been watching… in a completely non-creepy fashion. It’s an observation, really. He hums, tries to sound satisfied and pleased with his luck, but after psychologically building himself up for what he was sure would be an absolutely wretchedly awkward meeting with his two sisters raptly watching, he’s disappointed at the lack of Smiling Elf. It leaves him a bundle of compressed energy and nerves with nowhere to put it except into gift wrapping, which isn’t exactly the most labor intense exercise.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she adds, gently hopeful, long moments later.

Tomorrow Derek’s not going to have the balls to do it.

“Pft, screw that,” Laura says from his right.

Derek rolls his eyes, not sure what to make of that. Before he can come to a conclusion one way or another a male voice cuts through with, “Uh…” and a Batman Lego box set gets shoved in front of him so fast it nearly smashes into his face.

Reeling back, Derek looks up to see Smiling Elf not smiling down at him. Sans ears and curling elf shoes and smile, the only thing that even triggers the image of Smiling Elf is the green shirt the man is wearing: green shirt with, of all things, an elf on it. Really, _this_ is what has enamored him for the past two weeks? Except, yeah, it is, because while there’s no smile on the man’s face there’s a hot flush burning the tips of his ears and his bottom lip is sucked partway into his mouth where he’s clearly gnawing at it with not so subtle apprehension. It’s not as great as the smile, but it’s nothing to turn away, that’s for sure.

“Ah… you’re gift wrapping… right?” Not Smiling Elf stutters out, still holding out his Batman Lego box set, ears burning hot enough to start a flush in his cheeks. His eyes flicker to either side of Derek before returning.

Derek has a mild interest in knowing whether or not his sisters are making this a million times worse by blatantly surveying the spectacle, but he can’t bring himself to look away to find out. In fact, he’s having a hard time doing anything.

An elbow jams into his ribs and he starts with pain. Brain recovering, he nods. “Yes,” he manages, pauses to swallow down the strangled tone in his voice, and nods again. “Yeah. Gift wrapping.” He takes the Lego set. “What paper?”

“Snowmen, please,” Not Smiling Elf manages, a small smile forming, bottom lip plump and pink from the previous attention.

Consciously reminding himself to breathe and praying he doesn’t make an ass out of himself, Derek turns around to grab the requested paper while viciously trying not to imagine how swollen and red the Elf’s lips would be after an intense make out session. He counts his breaths as he turns back around and starts wrapping, feeling mildly uncomfortable under the heavy weight of the Elf’s watching eyes.

“Red ribbon,” Elf requests when Derek moves to grab the green and then jerkily adjusts move toward the red.

He’s just finishing the bow when a loud voice booms over the constant murmur of the mall around them, shouting, “Stiles!” and the man in front of him jumps.

“Coming!” the Elf, Stiles, shouts back, fingers brushing Derek’s as he reaches forward for the just-finished gift before darting off into the crowd.

Dazed, Derek sits, looking out into the mall crowd, breathlessly wondering what the hell just happened, because he’s pretty sure he just blacked out for the past three minutes.

“You alright?” Cora wonders from his left.

“Need some private Derek time in the bathroom?” Laura wonders from his side.

He’s too horrified to make any kind of sound, just brings a hand to his face and fiercely hopes the world can’t see him if he can’t see it.

“That’s not going to help,” Laura assures.

“I know,” Derek sighs from behind his hand.

“You slipped your number in there somewhere, right?” Cora asks.

Derek _does_ make a noise at that, and it sounds a lot like some dying animal from Planet Earth.

The next day Smiling Elf—Stiles, Derek reminds himself—is still not working. It’s the twenty-third and if Stiles isn’t working today it’s doubtful Derek is going to see him again, ever, because he doubts the guy is dedicated enough to dress like an elf on Christmas Eve. Well, that, and the Hale sibling gift wrapping kiosk isn’t open on the Eve anyway, they have to prepare for the Hale holiday party, which is an event in it of itself.

“Well, I don’t want to say you screwed the pooch…” Cora sighs from his left.

“But you definitely screwed the pooch,” Laura finishes from his right.

At least Cora has the decency to sound empathetic.

“You look like you did when Laura threw your Hot Rod collection in the lake,” Cora says three hours later. She’s becoming less sympathetic.

Laura makes a sound that is somewhere between a huff and a chortle. “Worse. Definitely.” She’s gone from unsympathetic to almost hostilely sardonic.

_Just take advantage of the open bar_ , Cora texts him the next day after lunch.

_I’ll wingman you a rebound for the potential boyfriend you failed to introduce yourself to_ , Laura texts an hour after that.

_Wear something that makes you feel beautiful_ , Cora texts twenty minutes before he’s heading out.

“Just remember, you’ll probably never see him again and it’s all because you didn’t make a move,” Laura says as he walks in to the party. The only reason he doesn’t turn around and walk out is because she’s grinning, and there’s a shadow of sympathy in it. That, and she’s holding out a scotch on the rocks, because ever since he turned twenty-one alcohol has been the great bond of silent empathy between the two of them.

Two drinks into the party, Derek is thoroughly distracted by family and guests to think too much about the relationship that might have been with Smiling Elf Stiles. Peter’s finishing a joke so inappropriate Derek feels guilty for listening and worse for finding it funny. He’s turning away, partly to try to distance himself and partly to try to disguise the fact that he’s actually laughing, when his elbow knocks into someone and a drink goes spilling. Cold liquid spills seeps through the elbow of his jacket and when he looks up he sees a dark splotch on a well-fitted dark waistcoat.

“Sorry,” is half chuckle because, well, it’s a funny joke.

“No problem.”

“I was just-”

“Serious- Oh.”

Derek’s eyebrows quirk as he looks up and freezes: it’s Smiling Elf—or Stiles. “Elf,” pops out before he has a chance to stop himself.

The man’s head tilts a fraction as a grin spreads across his face even as his ears start to burn pink. “Uh, yeah. You…” he chuckles, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, which brings Derek’s attention to the sleeves rolled up to the man’s elbows. He’s not sure if he can handle this. “You noticed that.”

“Definitely,” confirms Derek’s fear of having broken his brain to mouth filter.

The blush is more fierce as the hand slides away from his neck and reaches out. “Stiles,” he introduces.

“Derek.”

Stiles nods and chuckles again. “Yeah. I know.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. It’s not like the Hale family tries to hide from the public, but they’re not really figureheads outside of the department store circle.

“I work IT,” Stiles starts. “For the company. Peter has a picture of the family on his desk.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than Peter’s familiar voice is calling out, “Stiles! Stiles. Derek. Perfect.” A heavy arm wraps around Derek’s shoulders, pulling him in against his uncle. “I’ve been looking for you Stiles.”

Stiles’ shrug seems to indicate that he’s not sure what the problem’s been, he’s been around.

“Did you know Stiles was an elf at the mall this year? He would have been right around the gift wrapping kiosk,” Peter provides Derek, unhelpfully.

“Yeah,” Derek sighs, rolling his eyes and hoping Peter doesn’t see. Stiles just grins.

“We kind of met,” Stiles provides.

“You met! So you asked him out already. Good job, Derek.” Peter claps him on the back and wanders away, disappearing into the masses of the party, leaving Derek, neck burning with embarrassment, with Stiles, whose eyes have gone wide.

“Ah,” Derek starts, not sure what to say. He settles for swirling his drink and taking a swig. It doesn’t take as long as he wishes it would and he’s left facing Stiles with nothing to say.

“Well…” Stiles murmurs.

“Well…” Derek mimics, half expecting one sister or another to show up and make things worse.

Instead, Stiles laughs. “You want to make a date then?”

Derek stares.

“I’m saying yes,” Stiles provides. “To the date you didn’t ask me on.”

“Stiles!” Cora shouts, half running into the back of the man, knocking him forward a step before he catches himself, adjusting to the additional weight of the woman hanging off his arm. There’s the other shoe dropping. “Stiles. You wouldn’t _believe_ the goober that my brother is.”

Cora is not sober.

Derek’s life is some kind of torture.

“Also, you as an elf are hell’a hot.”

“Yes, well,” Stiles says, not even disagreeing with her. Though he does start to attempt to untangle himself. “This goober and I are going to grab me a new drink.”

Cora’s eyebrows dance. “You gonna bone in the coat closet?”

Derek’s life might be some kind of torture, but he has to admit that he’s a fan of the way Stiles suddenly flushes as he stutters his way thought, “I’m not…” Shooting a glance at Derek he lowers his voice, but to be heard over the rest of the party it’s not low enough for Derek not to hear him, “I’m not going to _bone_ your brother in a coat closet.”

“Pretty sure he’d bone _you_ in a coat closet,” Cora assures.

Stiles glances up to meet Derek’s gaze, which he can’t, because Derek is pointedly not looking at him.

“Okay,” Cora says, patting Stiles on the chest. “Just wanted to make sure you boys met and were on your way to, like, no pants fun times and stuff. I just…” she reaches up and smashes her palms to Stiles’ cheeks, forcing his lips into a fish-like kissing face, “want you to smoosh your face against his face and have you have babies.”

“Oh my god,” whines out of Stiles’ mashed lips. His eyes have rolled up toward the ceiling. Derek knows that look. It’s the look of a man hoping Zeus will strike him down where he stands with the strongest lightning bolt in his possession.

“Babies?” Derek asks instead, because he’s never seen Cora this drunk.

She spins around. “You two, are goobers,” she says to him, shoving a finger in his chest before walking away.

“So…” Stiles starts, clearly unsure where to go from here.

“That’s my family,” Derek provides.

“How about that drink?”

“How about somewhere that’s not here?”

Smiling, and looking something very close to relieved, Stiles nods. “That sounds great.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://rlnerdgirl.tumblr.com) for writing updates or whatever.


End file.
